


You Go Too Slow for Me

by one_more_cup_of_tea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I'll Stop the World and Simp for You, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, My First AO3 Post, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26408041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_cup_of_tea/pseuds/one_more_cup_of_tea
Summary: Crowley helps Aziraphale learn to drive. Banter ensues, with a sprinkle of yearning.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	You Go Too Slow for Me

"All right, angel, get in." Crowley opened the door of the Bentley and ushered Aziraphale into the driver's seat with a mock flourish.

Aziraphale eyed the car suspiciously. "Perhaps this isn't the best day." He peered into the clear sky, squinting his eyes against the afternoon sunshine. "It looks as if it might rain. Perhaps I should have brought my umbrella."

"What are you blathering on about?" Crowley shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. "Rain? There's not going to be any bloody rain. Get in there before I pick you up and toss you in myself."

"Fine, fine, no need to be so pushy." Aziraphale took two steps toward the car before pausing again. His hesitant glance drifted to Crowley. "Er, I know you're very tidy for a demon, but . . . I must ask . . . is the seat clean?"

Crowley's eyebrows lifted over the rims of his sunglasses. "Are you really asking if my Bentley's clean?"

Aziraphale blanched and stammered, "Yes, you're right; it's a ridiculous question. Of course your motor vehicle is clean. I wasn't trying to insinuate anything about your standards of cleanliness, no, no, not at all. It's only that I just brushed and pressed my coat, and I really don't want to risk any stains. You know how I am about that."

Crowley seemed about to become irate, but he relented at the last moment. "Yes, I know very well how you are about your precious coat, and, yes, I can guarantee that the Bentley is absolutely spotless. You could eat sushi from the floor without the slightest fear of ingesting anything unsavory." He reached a surreptitious hand behind his back and quietly snapped his fingers. If anyone had been scrutinizing the interior of the Bentley, they would have seen a splash of coffee on the floor, a sprinkling of crumbs on the seat cushion, and a cigarette burn on the steering wheel all disappear into thin air.

Taking care not to wrinkle his clothes any more than was necessary, Aziraphale eased himself behind the wheel. Crowley, meanwhile, sauntered around the Bentley and flung himself into the passenger side. "Well, now, you know what to do?"

Aziraphale looked at him with alarm. "No, I do _not_. If I did know how to drive one of these things, would I be here, with you, letting you order me around in this degrading manner?"

"I dunno, angel. I wouldn't put it past you." Crowley smirked and then launched into his tutorial before Aziraphale could argue. "Right, so, here's the key. Put it in and turn it like so." As Aziraphale timidly turned the key in the ignition, Crowley's hand hovered a few inches away from the angel's. Once the car was running, he withdrew his hand, with the faintest hint of reluctance, and instructed Aziraphale on how to put the Bentley in gear.

"All right, now take your foot off the brake and get moving."

Crowley had expected to conduct the lesson in Soho, but when he had arrived at Aziraphale's bookshop, the angel had been aghast at the very idea of learning to drive on the busy London streets. Crowley had eventually agreed to drive them into a quiet rural area, but not before he had exacted from Aziraphale a promise to treat them both to dinner afterward.

At this rate, however, dinner was unlikely to take place until the next century, at the earliest. Aziraphale was driving so slowly that an elderly snail could have outpaced them without breaking a sweat.

"Pick up the speed, angel," groaned Crowley.

Aziraphale clutched the wheel by both hands, refusing to take his eyes off the road. "I only feel comfortable driving at this speed. You honestly can't expect me to drive at your breakneck pace when I've barely learned."

"The least you can do is follow the speed limit." Crowley gestured at a sign that stood at the side of the road a short distance ahead. 

"That's a _limit_ , Crowley," retorted Aziraphale. "That's the fastest I can go while abiding by the law. It doesn't tell me anything about a minimum speed."

"That's not how it works," Crowley replied with exasperation. "You're supposed to go right up to the limit."

"Well then, why don't you follow your own instructions? I can recall at least one occasion when you went significantly faster than what the sign said." Aziraphale shifted his gaze from the road long enough to give Crowley a self-satisfied glance.

"That's another matter entirely," growled Crowley. "I know what I'm doing. Besides, you can't expect a demon not to flout the rules, especially a little thing like a speed limit." 

When Aziraphale looked about to answer, Crowley held up a hand. "Don't get distracted. Keep driving, and go faster, dammit." He turned his head to look outside the passenger side window and muttered, "You really are the limit, angel."

Despite their squabble, Aziraphale dutifully increased the Bentley's speed, so that they were traveling down the country road at a steady clip. After a brief interval, Aziraphale released one hand from the wheel and wiggled his fingers, flexing the muscles that had grown cramped from holding the wheel so tightly. He returned his hand to the wheel, with a somewhat less vise-like grip, and repeated the motion with his other hand. 

Crowley did not bother to comment on Aziraphale's movements. He looked absently through the window, drumming his own fingers on the interior of the car door. An aura of boredom surrounded him.

"How about some music?" he finally asked.

Aziraphale looked as if Crowley had suggested stopping the car to detonate a nuclear bomb by the roadside. "No, I do _not_ want any music. I'm supposed to be concentrating, and you're supposed to be teaching me!"

"Come on now, how much can I really teach you here? This road is deserted, and there aren't even any twists and turns. It's as straight as your posture and as dull as heaven."

(He was correct; the road was straight to the same degree that Crowley and Aziraphale were not.)

"You'll just have to put up with it until I feel more comfortable," insisted the angel. "I refuse to rush my progress to satisfy an impatient demon." Confident that Crowley was rolling his eyes behind his shades, Aziraphale attempted to placate him. "If you really feel bored, you are free to talk to me. I believe that is how friends usually pass the time together, anyhow," he added stiffly.

"Friends, eh?" Crowley lifted his eyebrows with a slight smile. "What do you propose we talk about?"

"I don't know." Aziraphale struggled to keep his full attention on the task of driving. "The weather?" he suggested feebly.

"I'd sooner talk about typographic anomalies in your collection of rare Victorian botany books." When Aziraphale opened his mouth, drawing in breath for what threatened to be a long speech, Crowley said hastily, "If you actually start talking about botany books, I will play the Velvet Underground as loud it will go, and I will refuse to stop."

Silenced by the disturbing prospect of bebop, Aziraphale gulped back his bibliophilic opinions and fixed his eyes once more on the road. Crowley gave him a few pointers on driving and then slouched in his seat, idly surveying his immaculately dressed companion.

"Why'd you bother to press your jacket anyway? Special occasion up there?" He gestured vaguely toward the heavens, although under the current circumstances he appeared to be indicating the roof of the car.

"For the blessed in heaven, every moment is an occasion for rejoicing," intoned Aziraphale. The pious inflection dropped from his voice as he admitted, "It's nothing to do with matters _up there_. I was making my normal preparations for a social outing."

"A social. . . . What, with _me_?" Crowley looked incredulous.

"Yes, with _you_. Though you may be an infernal beast from the fiery pit, I do believe that this excursion qualifies as a social outing."

"Well, it's a lesson, too, and you're paying for dinner afterwards, so don't you forget about that," Crowley grumbled. Nonetheless, his protestations were weak, and his expression softened infinitesimally.

The instructional portion of their social outing proceeded without mishap for the next half hour. Crowley had Aziraphale attempt a couple of three-point turns in the road, showing him how to use the reverse gear. The angel managed to execute the maneuvers and was quite pleased with himself. Crowley didn't tell him that, at one point when the car was in reverse, Aziraphale would have had a rather nasty collision with a road sign if Crowley hadn't flicked his hand and shifted the impertinent sign a few feet down the road.

Traffic increased as they approached the outskirts of London. Aziraphale, who had started to become more relaxed behind the wheel, grew tense again. His gaze darted to the vehicles in front of him and to his right. He gulped and said in a small voice, "Actually, some music might be nice. Something quiet, of course. Something soothing for frazzled nerves."

Crowley grunted and leaned down to rummage in the glove compartment. Aziraphale glanced at the demon's hunched shoulders, but his eyes were abruptly drawn back to the road as a car rushed out from a side street and swept directly in front of the Bentley, forcing the angel to jam his foot on the brake.

"You . . . you foul fiend!" yelled Aziraphale.

"At your service," mumbled Crowley from the depths of the glove compartment.

"I wasn't talking about _you_ ," said Aziraphale. "I meant that . . that sorry wreck of a human who cut me off just now." He gesticulated angrily at the rear bumper of the car ahead of them.

Crowley looked up. "Well, don't take it out on me." He nonchalantly reached for his companion's left hand, detached it from the wheel, and pressed it into the center of the wheel, sounding the horn.

"I know how to work the horn," protested Aziraphale, shaking his hand free of Crowley's. "I've seen you do it plenty of times." His face twisted into an unconvincing frown.

Crowley seemed to be on the verge of laughter. "You wouldn't have done anything if I hadn't made you. Admit it."

Aziraphale remonstrated, "I can express my disapproval without making a cacophonous racket. As an angel, I have to take the higher moral ground and be the better person." He cast what he hoped was a magnanimous gaze at the other vehicle, but he only succeeded in looking as if he smelled something foul.

Crowley waved a dismissive hand at the angel. "Sometimes being the better person means giving the other guy hell."

"I fundamentally disagree," sniffed Aziraphale.

"A bit hypocritical of you, eh? I seem to recall that your side showed how high and mighty they were by condemning me to eternal damnation, just because my folks dared to raise a few small objections."

"I refuse to listen to your demonic nonsense," spluttered the angel. He turned to Crowley in half-hearted annoyance, but his irritation wilted under the heat of the demon's wry smile. Both of them looked away after a moment, and Aziraphale refocused on the road, eager to change the subject. "Whatever happened to the music I asked for?"

"Oh, that. I don't suppose Queen would soothe your frazzled nerves, as you so delicately put it?"

"I can tell I don't have much choice in the matter."

Crowley reached down again into the glove compartment. "The Bentley has its own Ineffable Plan, which is to pump as much Queen into our corporeal eardrums as possible." He selected a disc from the jumble. "You have to admit it's a more effable Ineffable Plan than another one we both know about. Not to mention more fun."

Aziraphale swiftly interjected, "Don't you start arguing again that my side doesn't have any fun. We do; it just doesn't happen to be _your_ idea of fun."

"And what is my idea of fun?" inquired the demon.

"Well . . . it's . . . you know, fomenting unrest and tempting people and . . . and making things difficult for everyone," stammered the angel.

Crowley guffawed. "And how exactly does your side _not_ make things difficult for everyone?"

"My side is doing the best they can," persisted Aziraphale. "Difficulty is . . . just an unavoidable consequence."

"If you can't avoid it, then why not have some fun with it?"

"Well, I'm not about to start going around tempting humans."

"No," agreed Crowley, "best reserve your temptations for poor, vulnerable demons."

"If I had to use any words to describe you, Crowley, 'poor' and 'vulnerable' would not be among them."

"Whatever made you think I was talking about myself?" teased Crowley. Aziraphale did not respond, but his lips twitched with a suppressed smile.

Crowley removed the disc from its case, twirled it around his index finger, and slid it into the player. As Freddie Mercury's voice filtered through the speakers, Crowley said without warning, "All right, lesson over," and snapped his fingers. Within a split second, Aziraphale found himself in the passenger side, while Crowley settled into the driver's seat and wrapped languid fingers around the steering wheel as if nothing had happened.

"You cannot do that without telling me! I wasn't prepared! I was driving!" exclaimed Aziraphale.

"Thought I'd give you a break," Crowley drawled. "Besides, I was getting tired of going so damn slow." The Bentley accelerated at an alarming rate.

Aziraphale refused to drop the matter. "What if something had gone wrong? We might have hit something! Or killed someone!" 

"Or even worse, we might have got a ding in the Bentley," said Crowley dryly. "You see what perils I'm risking for your sake?" 

"I never asked you to—" began Aziraphale, but his companion cut him off.

"Oh, relax, angel. You know you're in good hands."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "I suppose I do," he murmured, mollified. After a moment, he said, "To give credit where credit is due, you aren't as terrible a teacher as I expected. Of course, I wouldn't go so far as to say that you're good at it."

"I can always count on you to give the most touching compliments," quipped Crowley. Aziraphale smiled benevolently at him, oblivious to his sarcastic tone.

After a couple of minutes, "Don't Stop Me Now" began pouring from the Bentley's speakers. The tempo of the song grew too catchy to resist, and Aziraphale covertly tapped his foot to the beat, hoping that Crowley wouldn't observe him. But avoiding a devil's notice is difficult under the best of circumstances, and it becomes nearly impossible when said demon has barely been able to tear his eyes away from you all afternoon.

"Face it, Aziraphale. You never have more fun than when you're with me." Crowley looked at his friend over the tops of his sunglasses. Their eyes met as he accelerated to an even more ungodly speed.

"You're still paying for dinner, though," added Crowley, and they continued to hurtle toward their shared evening in London.


End file.
